Listen, I don't want to make any dirty jokes for this rejection, but even if I did, I have to say that Barrow Street doesn't even merit the slightest nod in that direction. It was a form letter sans name or even genre of my piece; a strip of paper cut from a sheet of multiple rejections with pinking shears.
I am not fooled by the fancy cutting tool. I assume you just couldn't find your regular scissors, douche.
I apologize only nominally for the harsh tone. I've had some whiskeys and they made me giddy.
No sex joke for you, Barrow Street.